


Power & Control

by LordJixis



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bloodbending, F/M, POV Third Person, POV Zuko (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 20:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordJixis/pseuds/LordJixis
Summary: Katara doesn't think of herself as a good person.That's fine.She only needs to be a strong person.





	Power & Control

The air temple is a heady place, with air so still and thick he could get drunk on it and a fall so devastating he longs for it more than he should. It's lonely, too, in a way he'd forgotten existed. He deserves that – he deserves so much worse, in all honesty – but it's a special sort of exclusion to look at the Avatar's group and know for a fact that he doesn't belong, that they all hate him - For good reason. He'll never let himself forget that, and they'll never accept him. 

That's alright. He doesn't need their acceptance.

He's actually learned that the only acceptance he needs is his own.

(He doesn't have it.) (That doesn't mean he's not trying.)

But still, needing and wanting are different. And as they joke around the fire, share friendly touches and warm food, he knows that he _wants_ that with the burning intensity that he once wanted his father's acceptance. But he also knows that many things you can't get with brute force, so he stays back and watches the light from the corridor, unable to join but reluctant to leave.

She appears quietly. Dark skin in dark clothes in a dark night, and she is a ghost of a human, too thin and too angry.

He can help, with one of those.

They're both silent. Then - “I don't trust you.”

He would chuckle if it were another time and another place, because he's never heard such an obvious statement spoken with such conviction. Instead, he says, “You have reason not to.”

They're both remembering times long past. He's made many mistakes, but below Ba Sing Se was one of the brightest jewels on his crown of fuck ups. He doesn't apologize, because she knows he's sorry.

When she walks away, he thinks that maybe he should have.

 

* * *

 

He's suddenly drenched.

“Oops.” It comes a beat later, and he's sure it was a moment of pure satisfaction. He looks over, smiles faintly because he doesn't have any clue what else to do. Her eyes are sharp, like the ice she wields so easily, and he's sure she could kill him in a second. He's sure he would let her. (This would infuriate her beyond all else. He doesn't think that's why he'd do it, though.)

She could dry him off, suck all the moisture from his body. She doesn't and he doesn't ask her to.

He just continues his forms, feels those eyes cutting him open. He wonders what she'll find, when she pulls up all his layers till even the marrow in his bones has been sucked out. He wonders, mostly, because he has no clue.

 

* * *

 

He sleeps in another room from the rest of them, and it should be peaceful, but he's spent his last few years traveling with his uncle and the man snores like an engine, roaring and steady. He'd actually gotten used to it, as a strange sort of lullaby that would always work.

The air temple doesn't even creak around him.

It's Aang that points out the dark circles, but he thinks it's Katara that actually understands. (He also thinks that's just his stupid brain, always circling around this girl like a moth to a flame.) No matter how much truth lies in it, it's Aang that tells him he looks like shit, but it's Katara that says in the gruffest voice imaginable, “You could sleep with the rest of us.” When she glances at his face, her eyes slant to hard lines. “It would be easier to keep an eye on you.”

It's such an about face from her earlier attitude towards him that he's speechless.

Until he realizes her second statement was truthful. She's a night owl, and long mornings are spent with her sleeping, while the dark nights have her reading in the corner, practicing her forms. She really can keep watch on him in this room, her eyes glowing like they hold light instead of just reflect it.

He should feel scared. Terrified. He's prey in this, something small and wounded, and he should balk at the thought of those eyes, those stupid, stupid eyes.

With them resting on him, he sleeps better than he has in years.

 

* * *

 

She screams at him. He deserves it.

She doesn't hit him, but he kind of wants her to. Tilts his cheek just the right way, she could throw him to the ground with a single hit. She doesn't take the bait, just spirits herself away with water and a yell, and Zuko feels something traitorous and thick in his chest.

 

* * *

 

He helps her find Yon Rha. He watches as she spares him, and on the way home, he tells her that she's the bravest person he's ever met (This isn't even a lie, and he's met many, many, people.).

She's quiet for a second longer than makes him comfortable, and then she's too close to him. “You don't mean that.” Ice is all he can relate her to. Her eyes, her voice, it all makes him feel like he's about to freeze and break, shatter as she laughs.

It's... not a bad feeling.

It should be, but it's not.

“I do.” His voice is too quiet, but he knows she heard. “I really, really do.”

She backs off. He's disappointed.

 

He doesn't know if she forgives him. He's never been the best at reading people, and the entirety of this new group is complicated in ways he'd never imagined people could be.

But her edges have softened, ice melting into something not quite as soothing as water.

 

* * *

 

He's allowed to join, now. It's all he wanted, but wants are nebulous, twisting things, and seeing her across from him, delicate features lit up with the uncertain light of the fire, it's all he can think about. _Wants._

He doesn't know specifically what he means by that, the word 'want' never forms into something more precise. But he looks at her and knows that he wants, and wants deeply.

It's like a tidal wave of the trickle he'd felt below Ba Sing Se, something that will bowl him over instead of just causing some discomfort.

Emotions were never his forte, so he tries to ignore it.

Her twinkling eye catches his over the fire, blue turned into something burnished and bold with the help of his element. She smiles at him, and a fierce pang of _want_ and _undeserving_ floods him.

Ignoring that might prove difficult.

* * *

 

They spar perfectly, evenly. He supposes it makes sense, because they are something like mirror images – flipped, but ultimately similar. This time, she catches him off guard with water spiraling into his back as she feints a kick at his front. He tries to grab her on the way down, but she spins out of his way and it just ends with him landing on his elbow. He hisses through his teeth, the fires that escape along with his air flare against the ground. He tries to flip up, but she catches him when he's the most unbalanced and pins him, ice dagger to his throat.

He chuckles nervously and tries to pretend he likes it _a lot_ less than he actually does. “You got me.” His voice is lower than it should be, gravel on a hot day, and he hopes she can't tell.

She smirks. His heart stutters at the sight, before seemingly deciding to work overtime to make up for it's pause.

And then shes off of him and he's getting up, ready for another round.

It ends much the same way as the first, with him being tripped – literally _tripped –_ and sprawling across the ground, and her perched on top of him with that damned ice knife. He breathes heavy, shudders at the weight of her pressed into him. The stupid smirk comes back on her face, and he can feel his face tinting to match his scar. He hopes she can't, hopes with all his heart that she's completely oblivious, because he just got this back and spirits fucking damned he will not lose it again.

He declines another round, citing 'tired' instead of the real reason.

 

* * *

 

When she says she needs to talk to him, his heart climbs up his throat and answers for him, “Ah, yeah! Of course. Talking. That sounds – great.”

The looks she fixes him with is – awful. Enough to make him want to throw his heart into the dark, dark drop that looms so close.

She doesn't give him the time, just immediately turns and leads him onto the spiraling corridors. He's lost hopelessly after about five minutes of sharp turns and curving hallways, and when she finally leads him into a room, he can't help but remark that it looks like all the others.

“That's the point.” The way she says it makes the fine hairs on his neck stand up. She sighs then, a long, exhausted thing. They're all tired, in the way you can only be as a war-torn warrior with no end date in sight. Her eyes find his in the dim light, and they are sharp and solid, but he thinks he can see something swimming underneath. “I need -” She stops there, her frustration evident on her face. Her fists clench then, and she barrels through, “I have to be stronger.” He moves to interrupt her, because she is ridiculously and immensely strong, but she stops him before he starts. “I _do._ ” And he understands that, the desperate motivation that stems from _if I were just better then it wouldn't have happened._ He wonders where the root of it lies for her, but she's continuing on and he needs to listen and focus because this is so obviously important. “And... I have a way. I just -” She looks up at him, and her eyes are suddenly open like he's never seen them, ice breaking way to great, swirling water.

“I'll do it.” He doesn't feel like he's in his body as he says it. It's not him forming those words, pushing them out.

She hadn't even asked a thing, but relief crashes on her face like a wave. “Thank you.” She rasps, and then goes about explaining exactly what he's gotten himself into.

 

* * *

 

The first time they go to practice, he's nervous like he's only been on rare, special occasions. “Are you ready?” She asks, and it might've been the seventh time she's questioned his resolve. (He'd be angry about that, because the Prince of the Fire Nation will keep his word, _dammit_ – but it was always spoken with such a soft, caring lilt, and he had agreed to something that was... terrifying, and more than a bit uncomfortable.)

“Yes.” He breathes it out, the same kind of breath that precedes his forms.

And then he can't move.

It's... worse than he'd thought. He hadn't realized how sure he'd always been of his body (His mind could and would betray him, and he had learned repeatedly that it was not to be trusted. But his body had always followed every command with surety, and now, having that ripped away, he felt awful.) until suddenly it wasn't listening to him.

“Are you okay?” He doesn't know if she can tell, doesn't know how deep her hold goes. She could be reading his mind, for all he knows.

“Yes.” His mouth still works, and it does what it's best at: spitting lies. She seems to take it as a truth though, somewhat soothing his thought she could read his mind. And then his leg has taken a small, shuffling step, and he had not been the one to command it.

He can't help it. He gasps. (He does not cry; this is counted as a win.)

“Still okay?” He answers again, lies again. And takes another step.

After that, she gives him a break – which means she lets go and he crumples to the floor. “Oh, spirits, are you okay? I didn't think -”

“Yeah, m'fine.” He cuts her off, because he'd agreed to this. “Just caught off guard.” She makes some noise, but it's lost on him as he recuperates.

He doesn't give himself long, heaving up before he feels truly ready. She's waiting for him, hands poised, and it's much easier now that he knows what's coming. She takes his body away from him, grabbing from the inside, and he thinks he hears a _slosh_ when his arm raises. He doesn't even react, but that noise makes his stomach sink deep.

“Okay.” She says, right before she releases him. With the warning, he even manages to stay standing.

He gasps in, out. When he looks up, she's hovering, hands hanging awkwardly in the air between them. “I'm fine.” He takes deep breaths, lets of licks of fire from his mouth. The heat grounds him, and he says in a much stronger voice: “Tomorrow?”

Her mouth works like she wants to say something, but seals without a single word. He wants to know, wants to pull apart those pretty lips and find all the secrets they hold, but he doesn't, just waits. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” Is what she finally says.

 

~

 

The next day is anticipation, hot and heavy. She catches his eye at lunch (her breakfast; she must've stayed up much later than him.) and does a small little smile that _hurts._

He trains Aang, whose picking up basic forms just as fast as Azula did. It doesn't bother him, except for the ways it does, but he keeps them quiet and tucked away in his head.

And then, everyone is going to sleep and he's creeping off, blending into the dark in a way that's unfamiliar, as a firebender.

She's already there, bottom lip pulled between teeth and arms molding glittering water. He doesn't say anything, just watches, until she decides she's done and pushes it back into her water skin.

“Hi.” She's soft and sweet, a little hesitant. He greets her, thankfully sounding less choked than he feels, and she inquires, “Are you ready?”

There is only one answer.

When she takes a hold of his body, it doesn't fill him with the blinding terror it did yesterday. He chalks this up to actually knowing what was coming.

This time, his legs give out. He slumps to the floor, all careful control and loose limbs. It is not how he would've lain down, but his body is no longer his.

He's flat on the floor, splayed and spread. He feels so very exposed.

His arms raise, lower. Then his legs. He feels it all happen, feels his fingers extend and curl back; and there's something intoxicating and awful about not being the one to do it. It continues in the same vein as she moves smaller and smaller body parts, ending with his eyes closing without his command.

“Okay.” She says, and it takes him a few seconds to realize he has control back.

“Okay.” He echoes back.

“Tomorrow?” Her hesitance is palatable.

“Yes.” He sounds sure. It's a miracle.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, when she takes a hold of him, he feels lighter.

And then he's floating.

He lands wrong – because he hadn't realized he was falling, still busy trying to comprehend that he'd been flying – and she's by his side in an instant. He's too dazed to catch the start, but when he tunes in she's apologizing over and over. “What,” She stops instantly, eyes fixing on his, “Was that?”

“I'm sorry, I just thought... I should've warned you.”  
“It's fine - but what was that?”

 

“Humans are mostly water.” He knew this, but had never connected the dots.

 

“Oh.”

 

“So... I can pick them up, like water.”

 

“ _Oh._ ”

 

~~

 

“You aren't a bad person.” He didn't realize how much he meant it till it was already said.

Her eyes are conflicted, the rolling waves of a stormy sea. “I'm willing to be a bad person. For them.” He hears 'for him', because he knows in his traitorous heart that she loves the Avatar, and would do anything for him. Even things he does not want.

They don't realize something is wrong until it's too late. She slams a bandit down, headfirst, and he stills immediately. She breathes out. These are bandits, they are not nice people. They are not good people, and they do not deserve mercy.

He repeats it to himself, because it's true.

_She's lovely._

(He does not repeat that thought, for the same reason.)

It's a beautiful moment, the dim lighting smoothing over her face, making the sweat twinkle. She is powerful – too powerful, he'd say of anyone else. Maybe her, too.

There were twelve bandits. When he turns back around, there are only four.

And then, there were none.

“Oh...” She sounds far away. Far away and underwater, voice coming through warped.

 

And then she faints.

 

(He catches her, and then almost drops her because her face was _right there_ and she smelled like sweat and tranquility [There are things he would never tell anyone. This becomes one of them.].)

When she wakes up, he doesn't say anything. She blinks dazed eyes at him and he hands her water and food, and it is silent for a very long time.

“Wasn't even the full moon.” She mutters. He wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been straining.

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, and it isn't quite full, but it's close. He wonders how big of a difference it makes.

 

* * *

 

They weren't careful enough, on the way back.

“Been looking for ya.” The drawl is unmistakably fire nation, which, coupled with the words, was worrisome.

“Ah.” He says, mind elsewhere. Katara had gone to the bathroom – which, of course. Of course they would come while she's gone and he can't warn her – and he needs to handle the three figures staring menacingly from across the clearing.

His attention is brought back abruptly as fire singes his hair, burning the ground a few feet away. “Wha-” But they're attacking now, truly, and he wishes bad guys behaved like in books, where they talked about their evil plan long enough the hero won.

He doesn't think much about mentally designating himself the hero, because there is a lot of fire, and a lot of things on fire. It's less than ideal, even for a firebender. He doesn't realize they've backed him into a corner until he's already in it, flames licking up on both sides. When the fire keeps coming, he realizes: they don't mean to leave him alive.

He'd deal with that later, but the amount of 'later' he has seems to be decreasing rapidly. He keeps deflecting anything he can, but fire grows and there is just _so much._ His throat hurts with every breath, and he can feel the dizziness set in, and... he never really thought he'd die like this (Or on his father's orders, but the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it's fine to not.). He never thought he'd just... die in some random battle, in the countryside of his homeland.

He passes out, probably, because the next thing he knows he's literally shooting towards his attackers, much faster than he really feels comfortable with. It's obviously more than they feel comfortable with either, because all their mouths are hanging open and their hands are laying limply at their sides.

He's sure he's in the same pose, but a mantra of _dosomethingdosomethingdoSOMETHING_ echoes through his head, and he's never been more thankful.

He twists so he's coming at them feet-first, flames of his own creation licking around his toes. He literally fire-kicks two of them, hurtling through them with so much force they fly back. He winces at the _crunch,_ because it's vulgar and so telling, but there's one left and they obviously aren't ready to give up. He's dodging wild punches when water sprays at his cheek, and he thinks 'oh, Katara.' but then it's just tears streaming off the soldier's face.

He's so taken aback that they land an easy punch, throwing his head backwards with so much force it pops. They make a fatal mistake in not pressing their advantage, and he recovers easily.

When he looks up, they're by the bodies.

 

Because that's all they were now.

 

Bodies.

 

The man looks up – because Zuko has recovered enough to see it was indeed a man – and there's tears everywhere, all over his face. He's holding the fabric of one of the shirts, white knuckled and shaking, and when he speaks it's with a croak he would've called pitiful in any other situation.

 

“Kill me.”

 

The words are jarring – he's heard people beg for their lives, before, but not this. Never this.

“I don-” He's cut off.

“KILL ME.” He screams it, thrashing like a wild animal. Zuko takes a step back, the flames hot against his back.

“I – why?” It's a morbid question. He's sure he doesn't actually want the answer.

His eyes go wide, real wide, like he can't quite comprehend why Zuko would be asking. “Have you ever loved someone?” His voice is suddenly very quiet. Zuko has to strain to listen over the burning forest. “Like, _loved_ them?”

Shock. That's what this is, he realizes. They're in shock.

“Please.” They have large eyes, the fire nation amber proudly on display. It feels like they're drilling into him.

He watches the light leave them. “Wha-” He turns around, falling silent when Katara's form comes into view.

She's not looking at him.

 

“You killed him.”

 

She bites her lip. It starts bleeding. The liquid entrances him.

She doesn't say anything, and he thinks _of course._ There is, in all reality, not much to say to that.

“You shouldn't of... He could've...” Everything he's trying to say comes out weak. He should've kept his mouth shut.

“He asked for it.” Her voice is forced and flat. It hurts, in a way he's not going to analyze.

“He wasn't thinking clearly.”

She grits her teeth. Her jaw twitches, and he's so ready for her to grab a hold of his body, he stumbles when she doesn't (She doesn't notice; and he's eternally grateful she'll never know he thought so lowly of her.)

“Have you ever loved someone?” Her voice is ice, and it drives into his heart. Of course. She'd want to die if the Avatar did.

He doesn't say anything. It's what he should've done from the start.

 

* * *

  
  


It's...tense.

It has every right to be, but that doesn't mean he likes it any. They stop meeting up for her practice, they stop going to the market together. They just... stop.

He didn't realize how much he was relying on her until he couldn't (it makes him feel mildly sick. Relying on people was not his strong point.)

It wasn't just that she was lovely. It was that she was _comfortable,_ in the way very few things were. He didn't feel like he had to hide parts of him around her, he didn't feel like he had to be someone he's not. She accepted him and complimented him. And she wasn't talking to him.

 

* * *

 

“I'm sorry.” He's not good at apologies, but he forces his voice to come out sure and strong.

She's obviously surprised, but it sinks into understanding. Shame flits across her face and she looks away, eyes automatically drawn to the fountain by them. He doesn't follow her gaze, just keeps his eyes on her.

“I'm sorry too.” The words drop on him, push the air from his lungs.

“It's okay.” She looks like she's going to argue, so he continues on, “It really, really is.”

She sighs. “Okay.”

Her voice is tired.

 

* * *

 

He has to win the Agni Kai. He _has_ to. (He thinks he can, even. Because lucky Azula, the perfect Azula, is losing her mind.) Everything in him is trying so hard, so hard, and he is so ready to turn her lighting back on her.

And then she doesn't shoot at him.

(He should've known. He'd only seen that she was fraying, peeling away at the edges, but a crazed Azula might just be worse than a sane one.)

The next thing he realizes is that he's going to die. He tries to get up, but even reaching out shoots pain through him. His vision is blurring fast, and Azula is just a dark figure in the distance. “Ka..tara.”

He's fine with that, as a last word. Her name. It was... something. Poetic, maybe. Ironic.

He could do without Azula's scream being the last thing he hears though.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up.

 

It's unexpected.

 

The first thing he sees is her face.

 

It's not unpleasant.

 

 

“Azula?” His voice cracks, a rasp that would be embarrassing if he hadn't just died. Almost died.

Katara has bags under her eyes, and bruises blossoming along her arms. She smirks roguishly, eyes alight. “Taken care of.”

She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> I somehow got back into ATLA so welcome to my hell. This was supposed to be so much longer but it's already bullshit so if I do more it's gonna be a series, because I really really don't want another multichaptered fic and think this can stand alone.
> 
> Also please review <3
> 
> (Also I've never seen legend of Korra so nothing in here will be canon for that (or atla for that matter))


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